Sweetie
The first time I saw that haunting, evil... thing was when I was about ten years old. It's been stuck inside my mind ever since, tormenting me every single day. My mom and my dad had been through a lot of fighting at the time, and eventually, they divorced. Me and my younger brother (let's call him Paul) stayed with my mom, and my dad moved to his Mom's until he got engaged to some other woman Paul and I never got to meet. It had been tough for the three of us, but we eventually got through it. We moved to a smaller city, went to a new school, mom met her boyfriend, etc. It was like starting fresh. Paul was only eight years old, so he saw himself going into a brand new experience. Everyone was so happy, we laughed and joked everyday... Now that I look back to it, these three poor souls barely knew what was to happen to them. There was this small plaza, no longer than a mile from my house, in which I went to when I wanted to be alone. There was only a few people there, and I usually brought my guitar to strum some tunes. It was there where I met my first friend outside the school. Her name was, say, Amy. She was about the same age as me, and we had a lot in common. Amy and I hanged out a lot at the local movie theater and at the plaza. She was fun to be with. But there was this one day in which I was sitting on a bench next to her, and Paul (who had become great friends with her too) was sitting on the ground, and we were all talking about scary stories and such. Amy loved scary things. She had collections and volumes of ghost stories, vampire legends, Frankenstein books, you name it, she had it. On that day, she suggested that we went ghost hunting at night around a small forest close to the plaza. As a fright night fan myself, I agreed quickly. Paul hesitated for a while, but decided to show us that he was a man and wasn't scared of forests. Bad idea. To all of us. It was one of these cloudy, dark nights in which you couldn't even see the moon, so it was almost completely dark. Amy had brought a flashlight. She didn't seem frightened. I felt uneasy walking by a place surrounded by trees at midnight, but held it in. I noticed clearly that Paul was shaking from fear. I told him if he wanted to go home, he could just tell us, but he rejected the offer and proceeded to walk faster. It was all going well. Too well. A sudden rustling noise made the three of us jump. It looked like a huge bird had trapped itself on some tree's branches and struggled to get away. We stood dead still, wondering what the noise was. After the rustling had stopped, we head a screeching noise, like someone scratching their fingernails on a piece of cardboard. I glanced at Paul and noticed that he was pale. I took his hand, and he held it thightly. After a while, we decided to walk forwards, just to see what the noise was, and get the hell out of that place. We jogged for what seemed like miles. Suddenly, Amy swung her flashlight to an old tree, and with a shaky finger, she pointed to three huge gaps on the trunk, as if someone had made deep cuts on it with a knife. I thought Amy was going to run, but she... Laughed. She started to crack up so hard I feared she might awake a demon or what. "Haha!" she laughed. "Cuts on the tree! CUTS! Like, heh, claws, maybe? Hahaha, oh man, this is gold. Gold!" I actually thought that she was going crazy. She didn't stop laughing when Paul and I took her hands and ran away from the woods to our safe houses. I got no sleep that night. What made these sounds? Why was Amy acting so weird? On my three hours of sleep, I dreamed of the scratching noise getting closer and closer to me. I was awoken suddenly by constant talking and sirens outside. I didn't know the time, but since it was Winter, it was dark outside, and I couldn't see anything from my bedroom window. I ran to my mom's room, but she wasn't there. All I saw was Paul, covered in my mom's blankets, hands to his face. I asked what was happening. He seemed really shaken up, and the only thing he could mutter was: "It's Amy." I opened the front door and looked at the scene. There were police cars, an ambulance, and about everyone in the neighborhood. The people were talking to each other, the policemen walked on and about the place, and I noticed right where they were standing. It was at Amy's front yard. I ran and looked for my mom. I sighed, relieved when I saw her figure approaching me. I asked what was going on. She looked at me with sympathetic eyes and said: "Honey, Amy's house was broken into last night. We still don't know who it was, but whoever did it..." she paused for a second. "They killed her. She was found just about an hour ago, and she was... Eyeless." I was about to fall down. I felt this weak feeling of loss and confusion. I wanted to ask a billion questions, scream out loud in fear, too, but pulled myself together. I asked my mom about the "eyeless" deal. "The killer pulled her eyes out. I just don't understand, why would someone do that to an innocent child?" she explained. I couldn't even say anything. Mom led me back to the house and I went back to bed. Of course, I didn't sleep, but rolled about the bed, crying, asking myself questions. When it was about 9 AM, I got up and looked out of the window. I could see everything clearly now. The policemen were gone, and it was all silent. I was about to go do something else, but something on the window pane caught my eye. Something, or someone, had scratched on the glass: "YOU'RE NEXT". I froze on the inside. When my mom came into my room to see what I was freaking out about, there was nothing written there. Not a scratch. Mom said I was too shaken up with yesterday, and told me to do something that'd take my mind out of it. About a week after Amy's death, Mom, Paul and me went to visit Amy's parents' house. I had made a card that said how sorry I was about the loss of their daughter (and also a good friend of mine) and Paul made a drawing of Amy, her mom and dad, and her sister, Lucy, all holding hands. Lucy was fourteen years old. She had autism, but was always nice to us. She loved to draw and I must admit that she did pretty awesome for someone with her condition. As Paul and mom chatted with her parents at the living room, I went to see Lucy. She sat on her bed, her face neutral. She toyed with an old teddy bear. We talked for a while. She replied to all my questions with the same tone of voice. It must've been hard for her to understand what was going on. "Sweetie did it" she suddenly said. "Sweetie?" I asked. "Who's that?" "I named him that" she swung her legs. "He was looking at me last night, through the window. Look, I drew a picture. And then, she proceeded to show me a watercolor drawing of what looked like a tall, husky figure, with huge oval eyes and the biggest, brightest smile in the world. And he was on the other side of a window. And he was tapping on it, with his long, pointy fingernails. "Why..." I was shocked. "Why do you call him sweetie?" I asked. "He wants to be called that." she answered. But the second part of her answer was what scared me the most. Lucy paused for a second. Then, she looked straight at me and said: "He says he wants to be called Sweetie because he needs people to know that he means no harm." "No harm?!" I asked, surprised. Now, at the time, I was an innocent, frightened ten year old. I'd believe in almost anything you told me. So I believed on Lucy's story right away. "He doesn't want to be seen as a freak. He says that all he wants is to be understood." she went on, her face the same. "He did something horrible, Lucy. How can he possibly want to be understood?" I was sweating cold. "He just does." and she left. I was worried that I had hurt her feelings, but I didn't follow her. I stared at Amy's empty bed, sorrowfully. "No harm" I thought. "Sweetie". "Understood". I was about to leave the room when I noticed something on the foot of Lucy's bed. It was a piece of paper that seemed like someone had torn out from a notebook. There was writing on it. For all I remember, it said: Sweetie came in to see me again. This time, he pointed to my sister Amy, but she didn't see him because she was sleeping. I didn't know what he wanted to say. Amy was out up until late tonight. She said that I couldn't tell Mommy or Daddy. I didn't say anything. It was a journal entry on the day we went out on the woods. I didn't even know Lucy had a diary. I looked around. No one was watching. I slowly peered under the bed and looked for more. Success. It was one from the week before. He used to scare me, but I think I'm getting used to it. He smiles a lot, and when he does, his cheeks almost touch his eyes. He's all gray, too. I shivered. Uncertain of everything, I looked around the room for more, but found nothing. Lucy's room was a mess, and I was about to give up and forget about her story, and admit that she was just making it up, until I tripped over something and fell down. On further inspections, I noticed it was a school notebook. I picked it up and flipped through the pages. It was the source of the notes I'd found. Ever since I was that age, I was obsessed with Sherlock Holmes mysteries and all the detective stuff, so I felt like I was inside a case. On most of the pages it talked about what Lucy had done during the day at school, nothing much of interest. But there was this only one page that talked about Sweetie. It read: I saw that thing on my window tonight. I don't know what it is, but it had long fingernails. He used them to carve on my wall the words "Sweetie?". I'm scared. I think he's asking me to call him Sweetie. I carefully tore the paper out and put it in my pocket. It just looked like I'd need it later. When I heard someone coming, I threw the journal under the bed and got up. It was my mom, coming to tell me we were going home. I spent hours linking the events. The noise we heard at the woods and the marks on the tree were definitely made by Sweetie. But why was Amy laughing? Did she have any knowledge about him? I couldn't wait any longer. I had to do my research. I was about to head out to the library and find out some more about that so called "Sweetie", when the phone rang. Mom was busy, so she told me to get it. When I picked it up, there was heavy breathing. Heavy breathing only. I felt a chill coming down my spine. "Who's this?" I asked, nervously. There was static sound. I wanted to hang up, but felt the need to keep the phone on my ear. I don't know why. So I did. Finally, a very deep, dark but whispery voice said: "I hope you remember me." Then they hung up. At first, I thought it was a sick prank, but the same senses that told me to keep on listening to the static told me that it wasn't just a prank. I tried to look up the number, but it said (null). I had never seen that happen before. The number wasn't blocked. It had somehow... Disappeared, as I used to think at the time. Even though I felt a deep frightening sensation, I decided to go to the library already and forget about the call. The cool air of the road made me feel a little more secure. I asked the kind lady that happened to live a few blocks away from me if she had any books about legends, the supernatural, or whatever. She thought for a second, until I decided to show her Lucy's painting of Sweetie. She stared at it for a couple of seconds, then she became a little bit pale. I asked if she was alright, but she said nothing. All she did was point to a certain section. "There's something she's not telling me" I thought. I decided to follow her directions and found an old shelf, filled with old books. I took a small peek at each one, but found nothing of interest. When I was about to give up, I saw a small, dusty dark green book on the far corner of one of the shelves. The title was "STF". I didn't know what that stood for. Out of my curiosity, I took it out of the shelf. After I saw what was drawn on the front of it, I almost dropped the book. It was a nearly identical drawing of Sweetie to the one Lucy had drawn. I opened it, hands pale and shaky. There was a paragraph that said something like this: Once you see Sweetie, he is real. Nobody that has seen it in person managed to tell the press about it. He is an evil creature that lives on the darkest of the woods. He is famous for leaving marks with his claws on trees nearby. If he spots you, he'll follow you home and murder you. Murder you It went back and forth across my head. Sweetie had obviously made it clear that he (or should I say "it"? Let's go by "he") had followed me home and scratched on my window. And Lucy was lying about her naming him. He told/manipulated her into calling him that. And now he'd yank MY eyes out. My whole body shook with fear, but I knew that if I wanted to stay alive, I needed to focus. As I exited the big library, the librarian looked at me, with that same pale face of hers and said: "Be careful with what you get involved into." I knew exactly what she meant. I entered my house, making mental notes to myself. I was surprised on seeing my mom and Paul looking at an old family album. "Dear, come look at this!" she called out for me. There were some pictures of me and Paul as toddlers, Mom and Dad on a boat when we were about five, Me holding Paul for the first time, etc. But there was something unsettling about the pictures. "Mom, what's that thing next to my crib?" I asked, pointing at something that looked like a Freddy Krueger glove. "That might have been your dad, just messing around" Mom said, trying to smile. But as I looked at some other pictures, that "glove" seemed to appear over and over. But when we came across a Christmas picture, in which everyone was in front of the glowing tree, I felt my heart skip a beat. Right behind that Christmas tree, stood a dark grey creature, covered with fur. All that was visible was his two wide, oval eyes, his bright hellish smile and his long, pointy claws that hung from his paws. Looking back at it now, it sounds stupid of me to not tell Mom or Paul about Sweetie on the picture, but I just couldn't bring myself to do so. My mom did piles and piles of paperwork everyday, and Paul was struggling to get good grades at school. I knew they both were exhausted, so I kept my problems to myself. I went to my room and tried to connect my evidence together. What did "STF" stood for on that library book? The "s" had to be "Sweetie", of course. Then the phone call. I searched deep into my memory, but didn't remember anyone with such unusual voice. I was confused. It couldn't have been Sweetie, for he wasn't human. The voice I heard was, certainly, coming from a real, living person. I was about to conclude something, but the phone rang. I felt goosebumps. Could someone - anyone - be watching me at that moment? I shivered at the thought, and slowly walked to the living room, towards the phone. As I put it next to my ear, I let out a sigh of relief at hearing Lucy's voice. "Hi, Lucy" I slid my hand across my face. "He's coming." she said, her voice calm. "Huh? Who's coming?" "Sweetie. Sweetie the freak." she replied, and hung up. Oh God, that name. I was tired and irritated of hearing it. Sweetie, Sweetie, Sweetie. He killed my friend, for Pete's sake! At least I had figured out almost instantly that "STF" meant Sweetie The Freak. I was just certain of it. And after I placed the phone back, I sat on the front porch of my house and put my hands over my ears. "I don't want to hear, talk or think about him anymore" I whimpered silently. "He murdered violently my best friend, took her life away. She didn't need to die. Is he going to keep killing people? I just wished that we hadn't gone to those stupid woods. Then, Amy wouldn't have seen the marks on the tree, and she wouldn't have freaked out and laughed, and Sweetie wouldn't have spotted us. And now, I am going to die, too. And so is Paul. And my mom will be alone. It's..." I stopped. Of course. It was all my fault. "I shouldn't have agreed on going to the woods! I was the first to say I'd go with her. And now, it is too late. I killed my friend. She's dead. She's dead and I am the murderer." I forced myself not to scream. It was too much for me. "How could I not realize that? I killed Amy, and my brother is my next victim. Then, I'll end up getting myself killed. I am such a terrible, horrible person. I started it all." You killed Amy. That little thought flew around my mind, and I felt like I'd go insane. I had just found out that I was the answer for my own case. And I had solved it. "My fault, all my fault" I whispered, eyes closed. "Your fault. You no longer wish to live." I heard a voice. I assumed it was just the same one that had told me I killed Amy, but it was different. It sounded darker and scarier. And that's not all. It wasn't coming from my mind. Standing in front of me was a tall, husky man. He wore a plain red shirt and jeans. His head was shaved, and he had traces of black beard. If I was in a decent state of mind, I'd have ran to the very end of town, but since I was nearly completely mad, I stared at him in silence. "You did it. It's your fault." he kneeled next to me. "I know" I replied. I felt a tear coming down my face, but I wiped it off. "You are a worthless human being. Think about it. Amy was counting on you. You let her die. Sweetie is nothing but a victim of yours, too. YOU invaded his property, and he needed to get rid of you and your friends, one by one. That's all." he spoke close to my face. "But I'll do you and the society a favor." "What would that be?" I asked, worn out by his words. "I'll take your life, so that you won't be a danger to anyone anymore. Don't you want the best for your dear little brother?" he said, staring straight at me. I nodded, shaking. I didn't want to harm anyone else. I needed to go. He smiled and got up. He looked proud of finally beating me. He crackled his fingers, then sat next to me again. He held my chin in position, and put his fingers across my face, thumbs facing my eyes. And I knew exactly what he planned to do. My eyes. He's yank them both out of my face. He pressed against them strongly. It hurt, and I wanted to scream, but he covered my mouth. The pain was getting more and more intense. I felt weak on my bones, and saw nothing but blackness, but I knew that the man was smiling. I felt it. Suddenly, a loud exploding sound. It took a long time for me to notice, but the pressure of his thumbs was gently fading away. My vision had been highly affected, but I could still see mildly. I was sure of something: I was not dead. Not yet. In front of me were a couple of men wearing black uniforms. On my back, someone had a strong grip of me. Even though the pain was extreme, I felt the scent of the person behind me, and that was Mom. After that, everything faded to black. I woke up in a completely white hospital room. My vision was better, and the pain had eased. A nurse looked sympathetically at me and called out to the door. "Ma'am, she's up. You can come in now." I felt a warm sensation when I saw my mother coming inside the room. She was all smiles and tears, and explained what had happened. Apparently, someone in the neighborhood saw the mysterious man pressing his hands against my face, and called the police. They arrived shortly, and shot the man right away. He bled heavily, but managed to get up and escape. They thought that he might have lost too much blood and collapsed somewhere, but no body was found. "Why did you not tell us about all that? Lucy came in and told me everything." my mom stroked my hair. "She left you this." It was a copy of the library book, "STF". I opened the first page, but it said the same as I had read at the library. I looked on the back of the last page, and there was some writing in black ink, certainly not written by the author. He is not real. This book is a lie. It's all in your head. He never existed. It was all a manipulation. But the man, oh, that's real. He is dangerous, and always gets away. Don't let him influence you. Don't make the same mistake as I did. I didn't even think about who had written that. I had finally realized. It was like waking up from a bad dream. The marks on the tree weren't made by Sweetie. His appearance in the picture, it was all in my mind. I wasn't a murderer. The real murderer was the manipulator. And he nearly got me. He knew me, even though I never knew him. Ever since I was young, he'd been there, observing. Stalking. Planning. And he hoped I'd remember him. Up to this day, sometimes, when I'm looking at old pictures, I spot Sweetie, just staring at me, with those familiar oval eyes, and chilling smile. But I learned how to ignore him. After all, it was all in my head. Wasn't it? Category:BCP Category:Pastas Category:Pretense Category:Monster Category:Serial Killers (Not Jeff)